Ash woke up long before the sun rose.The world outside his cramped hideout still slumbered in a haze of gray, but inside his skull it was chaos.
A pounding headache carved through his temples like claws. Dried blood clung to the underside of his nose. He sniffed, grimacing, wiping it with the back of his gloved hand. The dream still lingered—no, not a dream. A vision. A waking truth.
The blindfolded being of gold and bone. The cracked chain. The void of stars.
He pushed off the stiff bedding and sat up slowly, catching sight of the strange Crown resting on the nearby desk. Just looking at it made something twist in his chest—not fear, not exactly. Not awe either. But significance. The thing glimmered faintly in the dim light, as if it wanted to be noticed.
"…Screw it," he muttered. He reached out, picked it up.
It didn't feel foreign anymore. If anything, it felt his.
He slid it onto his head and stood. It wasn't flashy enough to make him stick out like royalty, not unless someone really looked. Still, something inside nudged him—wear it. Just for today. Just see what happens.
He pulled on his gloves, covering the strange Mark etched into his palm, and stepped into the cold morning air.
The narrow street markets were already awake, despite the hour. Vendors arranged their wares under low cloth canopies, oil lamps swinging from ropes and casting warm, flickering halos. Smoke from breakfast fires curled into the air. The scent of spiced meat, burnt bread, and dust filled Ash's nose.
He moved through the crowds quietly, blending in—but something was off.
He felt it before he saw it. A prickling on the back of his neck. Not like being watched, but like being judged.
There. Between two stalls. A man who wasn't quite a man. Skin like bleached parchment, eyes too luminous for a human face. His smile was polite. Friendly, even. But behind it sat stillness—like a painting come to life. His head tilted, slow. Too slow.
Ash quickly turned away.
Then another. A woman this time. Hair of shimmering ash, robes that shimmered faintly, as if woven from sky. Her footsteps didn't leave prints. Her gaze swept past him, and his body locked up for a moment, like his soul was being unzipped from the inside.
"...What the hell..." Ash muttered under his breath.
He kept walking, faster now. He didn't see the third figure. But he felt it. And somehow, he knew all of them were staring at him at once. He didn't stop to turn around. He bolted.
Down an alley. Past crates. Over a low fence. Through twisting side streets until the presence behind him faded. Or at least seemed to.
He stopped in a shaded courtyard, catching his breath, heart still hammering.
"What the hell was that?" he hissed, wiping his brow. His fingers trembled.
He sat on a nearby crate, trying to regain control. And that's when his thoughts settled—not on the fear, but on something useful.
"I need answers."
Crookjaw hadn't helped much. Just riddles and metaphor and cryptic warnings. Ash needed concrete information. Real knowledge. Something about the Crown. About the Chains. About the Mark.
He slumped, thinking.
Wait a second.
"…This whole time I've been trying to figure out who I know that might have answers," he said aloud. "Why not just ask one of those creepy church freaks directly?"
There was a nearby cathedral known for its sermons. And their head priest—what did they call him? A Blessed One. One of the "touched."
The idea made him grin.
"Sure, the average nobody wouldn't get a word with someone like that… but I'm not a nobody." He cracked his knuckles. "I'm Ash. King of scams, baby."
He stood, a plan already hatching.
"All I gotta do is make myself look real pathetic. Play the bleeding orphan card. Cry a little. Toss in some desperate pleas. That kind of guy won't be able to resist playing savior."
With sudden excitement, he ducked into an alley, bruising himself up, scuffing his clothes, smearing dirt on his face. Then he practiced a few tears and stumbles. Perfect.
"Alright, you glowing bastard. Let's see what you're hiding."
The cathedral loomed ahead—white marble, stained glass, and rising towers. The sermon inside was already underway, echoing voices carrying through the open doors.
Ash kicked them wide with a theatrical crash.
"SOMEONE HELP ME!" he wailed, staggering forward. "Please—I need the High Priest! I'm cursed! Please—!"
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Robed figures moved to intercept him, laying hands on his shoulders and trying to usher him out. He resisted, clutching his side, his voice breaking.
"Please—I need to speak with him—I'm dying, gods, please!"
"Remove him!" one cultist growled.
"Wait," said a calm, deep voice from the altar.
Everyone stopped. Even the air seemed to still.
The man who stood at the head of the room smiled faintly. His eyes were kind. His voice soft.
"Let him come."
The cultists hesitated, then stepped back. Ash was propped up by two of them, still faking weakness, but inside his mind:
"Target acquired."
The High Priest stepped down from the altar. "Everyone out," he said warmly. "I'd like to speak to the boy alone."
"But—!" one cultist protested.
The priest turned to him with the same smile.That same warm smile.
But something in it made the man pale. Tremble. He bowed quickly and left with the others.
Ash was now alone.
The High Priest regarded him for a moment before speaking. "Speak, boy."
Ash dialed down the act. He didn't drop it completely.
"Sire... I've been seeing... chains in the sky. Since I got this crown." He pointed to the circlet. "And this mark…" He pulled off his glove, showing the sigil. "Do you know what this is?"
Silence.
Then the priest nodded. "Chains, you say. My, my... You are quite the lucky one, aren't you?"
Ash said nothing, watching his expression carefully.
"Those chains," the priest continued, "are not seen by ordinary men. Only those chosen by something greater. Blessed. Touched. You see... when a mortal is marked by the divine, they begin to see truths the rest cannot. The chains are seals. On your soul, if you will. Each one holds you down. But the more you see... the more you awaken."
Ash's voice dropped. "And what do they unlock?"
The priest smiled again.
"Divinity."
Ash frowned. "You said 'something greater.' What is it?"
The priest paused. Then chuckled.
"'It'," he whispered. "You'll meet it someday. But not yet. For now... just know that the chains are not your enemy. They are your path."
The atmosphere turned heavier. Ash shivered slightly.
The priest reached out, patting Ash's head in a disturbingly paternal gesture. "Come back tomorrow. If you truly seek knowledge... I will be here."
Ash feigned humility, bowing. "Thank you, sire."
But inside?
"Thanks, my little old information bank."
He turned to leave. As he stepped past the pews, the priest called one last time.
"Oh, and about that crown and that mark… don't worry. They will bring no harm to you."
Ash stopped.
Something in the words rang wrong. Not a chill. Not a whisper. A shift.
His vision swam for a moment, and the world shimmered slightly.
Above the priest's head, floating in gold letters, a word appeared:
"LIE."
Ash didn't react outwardly. Just gave a grateful nod, a calm smile.
And walked quickly out the doors.
─── ✦ ───
The cathedral emptied behind him. Inside, the priest stood motionless. Cultists filed back into the room.
"He is an anomaly," the priest said softly. "Get rid of him."
They bowed in unison.
And then the priest's face shifted. For a flicker of a second, it twisted—a demonic grin stretching across inhuman proportions, eyes gone black.
"All glory to—"
The room darkened. A massive, unseen figure loomed from above, tendrils of shadow wreathing the ceiling, smiling down with teeth forged from nightmares.
─── ✦ ───
Ash returned to the tavern where Crookjaw skulked. He walked in with a bounce, ready to gloat about his newfound success.
But the moment he entered, the atmosphere changed.
Crookjaw sat in the corner, his usual cocky grin absent. He looked… worried.
Ash slid into the seat across from him. "What's with the look? You look like someone just told you your beard's fake."
Crookjaw didn't laugh.
"There's a bounty," he said flatly. "A 'marked thief' who stole a sacred relic from the Church. A Crown said to grant supernatural power. They call it a 'Blessed One's Crown.'"
He stared directly at Ash.
"They want him dead or alive."
Ash's grin faltered. "…Huh."
Crookjaw leaned in. "You know who they mean?"
Ash leaned back in his chair and let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh."Oh, gee, I don't know, Crook—could be anyone, right?" He threw his arms out in mock disbelief. "I mean, it's not like I'm the only guy in this entire damn city walking around with a mysterious glowing Mark and a crown that may or may not whisper in my sleep."
He rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, flashing an exaggerated grin.
"Hell, maybe there's a whole club of us. Crowned weirdos with cryptic destiny nonsense. We could meet every Tuesday. Potluck-style."
Crookjaw didn't respond. Just stared.
Ash's smirk faded. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and slouched forward.
"…Yeah. Okay. Let's pretend I'm not a complete idiot."He rubbed his temples. "You said it's a relic they're after. And that it was stolen from their church."
He paused.
And then it hit him.
"The only church I've been to. The only person I've shown the Mark to…"
His voice dropped low.
"…That bastard priest."
"I knew that guy was a bit off... but seriously?"
Crookjaw didn't laugh.
"You're a walking myth now," he said.
"You even being here is dangerous."
Ash swallowed hard, his fake grin finally slipping.
And the chapter ended, not with a bang, but with the distant tolling of church bells—like war drums calling the faithful to a hunt.